


let's play pretend

by wyntwo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam Winchester, Coda, Dirty Talk, Episode: s7e6 Slash Fiction, Incest Kink, Leviathan Dean Winchester, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Spanking, Top Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, did i even tag that episode right? idk how to do this, did i even tag the FIC right?, that's kinda ironic that the episode is called slash fiction and it's slash fiction lolol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21910945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntwo/pseuds/wyntwo
Summary: If anyone asks Sam, he won’t be able to explain how this happened.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 115





	let's play pretend

**Author's Note:**

> OMG SO I WAS WATCHING THE LEVIATHAN EPISODE AND THE PART HAPPENED WHERE LEVITHAN!DEAN WALKED IN THE INTERVIEW ROOM AND SAM WAS LIKE OH HI DEAN YAY BLAH AND LEVITHAN!DEAN WAS LIKE NAH THIS IS DEAN ADJACENT AND BOWED HIS HEAD WITH THAT LOOK.
> 
> SO I’M LIKE OH YEAH SAM LEVIATHAN!DEAN WANTS TO BANG YOU OVER THE TABLE–
> 
> G A S P
> 
> IT GOT EVEN WORSE WHEN LEVIATHAN!DEAN SAID, “You’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity to subjugate the weak.” 
> 
> AND I COULD JUST HEAR HIM SAY
> 
> “But I won’t.”
> 
> muahahahahaha enjoy. the story, i mean. it’s ok if you don’t enjoy this. it’s fun to me. i’m sorry. i have no friends

If anyone asks Sam, he won’t be able to explain how this happened.

He knows how it happened, but he doesn’t _know_ how he let it _happen_. He knows how he ended up bent over the table, the metal edge digging into his hip bones. His shirt’s rucked up and he can envision the remnants of the past half hour, give or take, just as much as he can feel them, scratches, _deep_ scratches, red, purpling marks in the shapes of his thumbs, especially in the dimples of his lower back, and red outlines of a handprint on each of Sam’s cheeks, along with bruises from too tight of a grip on his hips.

And he wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t have an answer to anyone who ponders an explanation for this. Including his brother.

_Especially_ his brother.

***

“You’re wasting a perfectly good opportunity to subjugate the weak,” He says, and there’s something like disappoint dripping from his words. Sam knows it’s not Dean but can’t help feeling like a little kid again, like this is another moment he’s let his brother down like he has again and again. He looks down at Sam with this shuttered face, that flawlessly composed way of hiding everything he’s thinking, feeling, and Sam knows the look, has seen it too many times on his brother not to (and has even learned to seek past the shutters to read his emotions when he’s doing everything he can to hide them). But he’s also seen that cocky, slanted quirk to his lips and the lowered lids of his eyes, has heard the gravelly, smoky note to his voice, albeit neither were directed towards _him_ , but Sam knows it when he opens his mouth to add, “But I won’t.”

God, Sam doesn’t _mean_ to– it isn’t supposed to–

But he moves so _fast_ , and Sam has already been roughly alerted to the feelings he shouldn’t be having. Just not long ago had much of a rude awakening to guilty swirls in his gut, every time he averts his eyes as his brother strips out of clothes, every time a fist is shoved in his mouth as stars burst behind his eyelids to the thought of green eyes and whiskeyleathergunpowder under the spray of warm water, every time he studies swift but just as efficient fingers clean and assemble guns. But it’s not as new as his most recent revelation; that there’s no getting rid of the feelings, so he just gotta learn to deal with them because it’s the only option he has.

And, okay, maybe he isn't feeling as guilty anymore when he gets off to the sightsound _smell_ of Dean, but Sam knows, he _knows_ , letting a monster that’s wearing your brother’s face fuck you, is just a line that should never be crossed.

Yet when Dean Adjacent cuffs him from under the arm and drags him up, quick rotate of his wrist and flattening of his hand, curls his palm against Sam’s shoulder, _shoves_ , sending Sam face down into the table with a ragged gasp torn from his lips, he knows it’s over before he can feel guilty about, before he even has a _second_ to feel guilty about it. God, within thirty goddamn seconds, Dean Adjacent has his dick so hard it could cut diamonds.

“You see, Sammy, I never told my partner,” There’s no teasing – he cuts straight to the chase, just nimble fingers, knowing and experienced as they unbuckle Sam’s belt and undo his fly, “but I got a peek in your head, too. I like knowing the people I’m working with and the people I’m hunting, you know? I’m more of a, knowledge is power kind of guy,” he snorts, “guess we have that in common, huh? See what I mean?”

Sam’s pants, right along with his briefs, are shoved past the swell of his ass and around his thighs. Sam pants when those hands, calloused and roughened from the only life they’ve ever truly known, slide up Sam’s ass and push at the layers on his upper half until they’re rucked up around his torso, just under his nipples. Sam’s fingers curl around the table edge, holding on, preparing for the ride, because–

Well, he’s got no explanation for that and he just won’t allow himself to think too hard about finding one.

“Point is, I know exactly how much you want big brother,” A throaty groan tears free from Sam’s mouth at those words, “and I’m not inclined to tell you if that’s reciprocated or not, but I won’t let a hot piece of ass like _Sam Winchester_ slip from my fingers. He looks just like you, but I can’t fuck my partner – against the rules, he’d tell boss. And Dean looks just like me–" You _look just like_ Dean _,_ Sam corrects to himself, "–but you can’t fuck him – whole brother thing and all. Though, you don’t seem to care about that much, do you? Don’t even feel guilty about it anymore. Even get _off_ on it now.”

A cold chill reverberates down then back up Sam's spine, and it forces a shiver through his entire body, can feel the hot press of his cock at his hole, the wet squeeze of precome that drips there, and his hole twitches for it in anticipation. He wonders if he’s going in dry, and he’s worried for a second, has seen Dean's cock enough to know he's not small – and that's _soft_ , by the way. But even with his newly discovered feelings, he’s always been attracted to boys, always been a huge cockslut and always loved being fucked until he was walkin’ funny and his asshole was red and puffy, _raw_. He’s only managed to get lucky enough to find a few hookups like that, but still, it’s not _enough_ , they still have their own set limits on how far to go and how much a normal person can take. But Sam isn't a normal person with a normal pain tolerance, and God, this is a _monster_ , and he’s not worried about being gentle and not trying to hurt Sam and he doesn't have those barriers holding him back, and Sam's muscles are _tensing_ for it.

“So whaddya say, Sammy, huh?” He pushes in, dry, and Sam resists against him, can feel his hole struggling to give way to the thick, meaty girth of Dean Adjacent’s cock, Sam snug around the head of him like a swim cap. He bends down and shoves in all at once, making Sam’s eyes roll back in his eyes, fingers tightening around the table until his knuckles whiten with the grip. “Big brother can pretend if you can,” he lilts, tongue flicking out, catching the spot just at the angle of his jawline. The sound of Dean’s voice, low but smooth as honey, traveling through and seeping into every nick and cranny of Sam’s mind, muffling any screams of resistance that were still fighting their way to the front of Sam’s mind (and losing, miserably).

“Fuck _yes_ , Dean,” Sam's content sigh that curls into a whimper, eyelids fluttering, and if Sam wasn’t on this table, his legs would’ve sent him to the ground they're trembling so viciously.

It’s fast and dirty from then, cut throat, straight to the point. He gives it his all, completely _slamming_ into Sam’s backside, nails catching in the skin of Sam’s back and dragging, a sweet, piercing, burning pain that sets Sam’s body ablaze, makes him cry out and his hips drive forward and back, can’t decide if he wants to rub up against the table or hump back into Dean Adjacent’s brain melting thrusts.

There’s a litany of noises coming from Sam’s mouth, shrill and porny and curses and praises, yes, _praises_ , because half his brain isn't functioning and it’s impossible not to praise him when he can’t shut down the part of his brain that pretends Dean is fucking him (the part that does this with any green eyed or freckled cheeked or sandy blonde haired guy anyway), that it’s Dean’s voice in his ear, that it’s Dean's smell around him, and God, it’s too close _not_ to, it’s not Dean in every way but it _is_. It’s Dean in every way that he can’t have him.

“Yeah, Sammy, wanted this for so fucking long, huh? Always– God, so damn _tight_ and just taking it for me, like you always do, always do exactly what I say like a little obedient _bitch_.”

And it hurts so damn bad, fuck if it doesn’t, spit all dried up now and was hardly even present to ease any of the friction to begin with, but it’s amazing, so damn amazing that Sam feels like he’s gonna fly apart, only held together by those rough hands and possessive fingers holding onto his hips, dragging him back on his cock again and again. It’s too tight in his own skin, too– too _much_. 

Dean Adjacent’s cock pummels into his prostate, catches and drags deliciously good across the spongy muscle with each world-narrowing thrust, ratcheting Sam higher and higher, bringing the simmering heat in his gut to a boil. Sweat drips from his bangs and into his eyes, salty mix of the liquid stinging them, but it’s not the reason he clenches his eyes shut; it's only like a scratch in comparison to the sensations coming from much, much lower.

The sounds of their bodies colliding are too obscene and too loud to drown them out, table skidding across the ground, each _smacksmacksmack_ tied with its own _skidskidskid_ and a high, screeching _uhuhuh_ from Sam. Fingers tangle in his hair and jerk his head back, and Sam yells, “Fuck,” just as a hand comes down on his ass cheek and makes him yelp, hole clenching hard around Dean Adjacent.

“This,” he says, slaps him again, Sam so far gone that tears well up in his eyes, “this is why I got into your head. Quickest and easiest way to get all your kinks, huh, baby brother?”

Sam mewls, scrambling forward and away from the fresh smack, rocking back, unsure, confused on what to do and where to go, chase the feeling, escape the pain, it’s all blurring and mixing into one boiling pot and it’s about ready to explode, energy building at the base of his spine, warm tingles seeping into his limbs and making them tremble.

“Gonna come, baby brother?” His thumbs dig into Sam’s back, and Sam grinds his teeth against the pain as he slams in. “Gonna squeeze my cock and make a dirty, little mess of yourself? Cream all over yourself and this fucking table?”

“Yes,” he whispers, fingers scrabbling for purchase, bucking like a horse raised in the wild and balls drawing up tight to his body, ready to find release. “Gonna– gonna make a mess, big brother.”

“Oh _God,_ ” Dean Adjacent groans, hips stuttering, “that _is_ fucking hot.”

And oh _fuck_ , Sam thought he was giving his all before, but no way, Dean Adjacent’s pumping in so hard that the table skids and slides across the room and to the wall ahead of them, and when the table crashes into it, creating a solid, crackled line of plaster, Sam’s toes come off the ground with the force of each grinding thrust.

“Look at you, baby brother.” Dean yanks the grip on his hair, sighing when Sam whimpers and opens his eyes. Sam is absolutely fucking _wrecked_ , cheeks streaked with tears, lips bitten red and bangs plastered to his forehead, tangle of hair knotted in Dean Adjacent’s fingers, the rest of it clumped at his neck and around his ears in sweaty locks. Completely fucked out and he hasn’t even come yet. “Look at yourself. You understand what you do to me?”

“Uh– huh,” Sam stutters out between hitched breaths, feels like his heart is lodged somewhere in his throat, and he can't _breathe._

“Makin’ me–” Dean Adjacent grunts, smashes in balls deep in a way that has them both gasping, Dean Adjacent grinding hips in deep. He lifts up an inch in the mirror and _shit_ , he slides in even _deeper_ , crams all of that cock inside of Sam and rubs, rubs, _rubs_ against that sweet spot, tingling bursts that set that boil inside of him aflame and charges up that ball of energy. “Makin’ me goddamn crazy, wanna fill you to the _brim_ with my come, ‘m gonna, gonna drop a big fuckin’ load in you.”

And Sam. Comes. _Hard_.

He howls like he’s dying, ‘cause he just may be, fist slamming into the table and cock pulsing, trapped and spurting between the surface he’s sprawled across and his stomach, smearing his come along his chest, hole squeezing impossibly tight, tight, _tighter_ , jolt after jolt of wet heat spreading under him, and then his walls are spasming rhythmically, Dean Adjacent humping against Sam’s body, trying to get deeper, _deeper_ , can’t get in any further but seems like he’d crawl inside of Sam if he could, seems like he’s fucking trying, and _shit_ , he _feels_ Dean Adjacent when he comes, can feel the strong lurch of his cock and the hot spatter of come on his raw insides, hear him groaning, watch his dazed, blissed out face in the mirror, feel him rock back on his heels, pitch higher on the tip of his toes then slam in _again_ , dribble of come spilling from the stretched ring of skin that is Sam’s abused hole. He lowers a hand, strips Sam’s sensitive cock lightening speed fast, and Sam is convulsing, bucking, _writhing_ , too sensitive, _hurts_ , blindingly hot pleasure mix of pain, and maybe it’s because he’s a monster, Sam doesn’t know, but Dean Adjacent’s still _hard_ and _crashing_ into his prostate dead on.

“C’mon, baby brother, got one more in you for me, know you do, give it up, wanna feel you come around me one more time, milk me a little more. Want all of big brother’s milk? Want it spilled in that tight ass of yours, huh, Sammy? Gonna take it all for big brother?”

Sam whines low in throat, about to shake straight through the table, is practically vibrating at this point, and he can’t do it, he can’t, he can’t he can’t he can’t, and he can distantly hear his own voice telling Dean Adjacent that, endless mumbling cries as his head shakes back and forehead, tears spilling down his cheeks again.

And then he’s jerking Sam up by his hair before slamming him back on the table and stabbing his nail into the slit of Sam’s cock. “You don’t have a choice, baby brother. Come. _Now_.”

And it’s not possible, it’s _not_ , not after how thoroughly Dean Adjacent's just fucked him and not so soon, but his mouth falls open on a scream that’s rooted deep in his chest, rips right out of his throat and spills into the room, knows that it slips through under the crack of the door and through the slits of the vents and carries down the halls, knows that if no one could hear them before then they can definitely hear them now, like fire sparking up his spine and that boiling heat _exploding_ , energy ricocheting all over his body, setting each nerve on fire and making all his muscles tense and lock, back arch and toes curl, eyes rolling back, and he’s not even on this _planet_ anymore, launched into another world, another _universe_ , and he’s floating, soaring, flying on a cloud that he doesn’t know if he’ll ever come back from.

Last thing he remembers is plushy lips mouthing at his neck lazily, sucking at his pulse, a pleased hum and then a throaty chuckle. It sounds victorious.

***

And that’s how he ends up at this point, startling awake by the door slamming open and a bewildered “Sam?!”, and he knows that voice, feels his hole clench around nothing at the sound of it, but then a sickening wave of dread washes over him when he realizes it's _Dean_ , the _real_ Dean.

He lifts to stare at himself in the mirror, and he’s so drained that it’s almost too heavy to hold his own head up, let alone his body, which he lets crash against the table. He meets Dean’s eye in the mirror, who, with a stunned expression, demands of Sam, “What the hell happened?!”

And like he said, he’s got no explanation for that.

**Author's Note:**

> kind of want to turn this into a little fic where they have to deal with leviathan!dean getting away because sam let him fuck him over the table... hm.
> 
> (except sam is feeling guilty about the fact that his dirty incestuous feelings is the reason that an incredibly dangerous monster get away, and even worse, he lets dean believed he was raped.)
> 
> decisions decisions...


End file.
